


I'll Check in Tomorrow (If I Don't Wake Up Dead) -- Alone Together

by MusicAndGoodBooks



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Depression, Drugs, Emotional Eating, I'll update these tags as things happen, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Swearing, suicide mention but no actual death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicAndGoodBooks/pseuds/MusicAndGoodBooks
Summary: Patrick works in a diner in Chicago and he keeps randomly bumping into Pete. They seem to be pulled together by some invisible force, and neither of them can understand it.This is really loosely based on the red string of fate theory because it's always intrigued me, but I didn't feel comfortable actually using that because Cultural Appropriation™ and all, so they're just kinda tied together around the waist with some fishing wire and a heaping spoonful of fate.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Kudos: 7





	1. Punk Pink

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I suck with titles. Originally planned this as a one-shot, but it kinda took on a life of its own :3 oops. I'm going to be adding to this as often as I can, but I've got a lot going on right now so please be patient, and kind. Chapter two is almost done, I might even post it tonight or tomorrow. 
> 
> Also, I sincerely apologize for any mistakes. I changed tenses like, four times in the editing process because I'm an indecisive little fuck, and I did my best to make it uniform, but I apologize if I missed anything. Please let me know if you find any errors, I'd be happy to correct them! :D

Pete stands on the roof of his apartment building, contemplating his life once again. It’s a semi-regular occurrence these days, especially on rainy Sunday evenings like this one.  
It would be so easy to jump off. End it all. Quiet his mind for real this time rather than temporarily shutting it out with drugs and alcohol like he usually does.  
He could jump.  
But he won’t, because something keeps pulling him back from the edge. He feels it. It’s like a physical pull from a rope or a strong hand.  
He supposes it’s just his cowardice that keeps him grounded, and maybe he should be thankful for that, but he isn’t.  
He sits down on the edge of the roof, and watches the cars drive by. The passers-by are blissfully unaware of the misery he’s in two hundred and fifty feet above them. He wonders what it’s like to be like them. To be ‘normal’, and to feel like his life had purpose.  
He’s felt this way since he was a preteen, and people always told him he’d grow out of it, but he’s well into his twenties now — quickly approaching thirty — and nothing has changed.  
It’s hours before he gets off the ledge and goes back into his dark, dingy apartment. He picks up his guitar and tries to play something, but all of his inspiration is gone. He lays down on his couch and sighs, watching the hours pass by on the oversized clock on the wall.

Patrick drives along the same road as Pete’s building, shamelessly listening to Britney Spears on his way to work.  
He has the night shift at his local diner, and normally he’d hate his life when he has to stay up so late, but there’s something different about tonight, and he isn’t sure what it is, but he feels good about it.  
“With a taste of your lips I’m on a ride, you’re toxic, I’m slipping under.” He sings along with Britney, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music.

“Hi! My name’s Patrick. I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you something to drink to get started?” Pete decided on a whim to get something to eat since he apparently wasn’t going to be able to muster up the guts to kill himself this evening.  
Pete sizes the waiter up. He is short and well, cute, for lack of better terms. He’s kind of adorable in the way that Pete wants to shrink him just a tad so he could carry him around in his pocket for amusement, and he has that friendly kind of face that almost makes him hateable, but somehow it works for him.  
“Can I just get coffee? Lots of sugar on the side.” Pete’s one of those guys that needs a fuck ton of caffeine and sugar to get through a normal day, let alone a “crisis” day. Crisis days require about four times the amount of caffeine and sugar, and those days usually end in the backseat of some random stranger’s car with him blowing someone in exchange for the drugs he took before he’d go home and get high off his face alone. He isn’t exactly what you’d call “social”.  
Patrick smiles. “Sure. Coming right up.” He walks away and Pete can’t help but notice how nice his ass is. He doubts Patrick is any form of gay, and even if he happens to be, he probably wouldn’t be interested in Pete anyway, so Pete tries to shake the thought out of his mind.  
When Patrick comes back, he brings a carafe full of coffee, a mug that looks more like a shot glass for squirrels to Pete, and a shaker of sugar.  
“Have you decided or should I give you a few minutes?”  
The diner is empty except for the two of them and a cook in the back, Pete assumes, despite not being able to see said cook, so Pete takes a chance.  
“I haven’t exactly made up my mind, but you could, um, sit with me until I figure it out? I’m sure I won’t be long.” Truth is, Pete isn’t hungry now that he’s here, and drugs are better on an empty stomach anyway, so he will probably just drink the entire carafe of coffee and grab a doughnut or something and be on his way, but he doesn’t want to tell Patrick that.  
Patrick looks around and sees the empty diner, too, and shrugs. “I’m really not supposed to, but Joe’s really easy-going, so I doubt he’d mind.” He slides into the booth across from Pete.  
They just kind of stare at each other for a while, and maybe it would be awkward if Pete had the ability to read social cues, but he doesn’t.  
He clears his throat. “I’ve never seen you here before.” He says plainly. This is his usual diner when he’s sad because it’s so close to home, and he definitely would remember Patrick’s face if he’d ever seen him before.  
“Oh,” Patrick laughs a little, his round face full of amusement. “Yeah, I actually started here I dunno, two weeks ago? I’m honestly just trying to save up enough to get the hell out of Chicago, and my friend, Joe, needed some help around here.”  
“Yeah, the usual waitresses here are garbage. I asked for no tomatoes on my BLT once and got waffle fries. I didn’t even get a sandwich.”  
This makes Patrick laugh again, and it pleases Pete to no end. “Yeah, I’ve heard horror stories.”  
“What would you do? I mean, if you ‘got the hell out of Chicago’?” Pete asks, curious to know the man before him.  
“Oh,” Patrick looks down for the first time. “I’m not sure really. I have options, I guess. I’d really like to pursue music, but I don’t really know how I’d go about that. Joe and I talk all the time about running away to LA and starting a band but that’s just a pipe dream. In reality, I’d probably just go work in a diner somewhere else.” This time, Patrick’s laugh is a little sad. “I could go to college, I guess, but that’s not really me. I worked as a copy boy in an office before this, but that wasn’t my scene either.”  
“What kind of music?” This definitely piqued Pete’s interest, being a wandering musician himself.  
Patrick blushes. “I’m big into the punk scene, which I know must be a shock since I’m in a pink apron and khakis.”  
Pete laughs. “Hey, it works for you. I’m a musician, too, if you can call it that. I write a lot of songs, but nobody ever hears them. I’ve had a few bands but none of them worked out. I think I’m more into the solo idea, but the problem is, my voice is terrible.”  
Patrick smiles. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”  
“Believe me, I sound like a cat screaming in a helicopter, but my music means so much to me, I can’t give it up.”  
“We should jam together sometime. I’ll be the judge. I’ve been told I have a pretty good ear.”  
This terrifies Pete. He’s only shown his work to one other person, and they were both high at the time, and she didn’t get it. She said his lyrics were depressing and his voice was garbage, and he believed her. But he wants to see more of Patrick, so he nods. “Sure, that sounds great. You should um, leave me your number.”  
Patrick smiles and reaches into his apron for a pen to scribble his phone number on his notepad. When he slides it across the table to Pete, Pete sees ‘PATRICK STUMP’ written above the number, and a cute little smiley face doodle right next to it. “You still haven’t even told me your name, you know.” Patrick reminds Pete softly.  
“I’m Pete.” He smiles at the blonde waiter.  
The door to the diner swings open and a bell rings to alert the pair that someone else has entered. Patrick stands up. “I work Thursdays and weekends, and whenever they call me in, but you can text or call whenever you want.” He smiles. “Have you decided what you want to eat yet?”  
Pete orders a whole meal, deciding he wants to go home and work on his music so it’d be ready in case he does actually get up the guts to call Patrick later in the week.


	2. Impatient Eating

Patrick frowns when he checks his voicemail on Saturday and finds none from Pete.   
Maybe he’d been too forward by asking the man to jam with him after only talking for a few minutes, but Pete had seemed really interested.  
It didn’t help that Patrick ended up getting called off work all week because there wasn’t enough business to keep him on the roster, so he didn’t know if Pete had even been to the diner again.  
He wishes he had Pete’s number to call, but he hadn’t thought he’d need it because he thought Pete would have called by now.   
He knows he should get off the couch and stop stuffing his face with pizza bagels and go to the grocery store because other than the pizza bagels he was currently eating, Patrick’s freezer was empty because Patrick was an emotional eater.  
Okay, he wasn’t exactly emotional right now. He was mostly _impatient_ , and he just really, really liked pizza bagels, but whatever. Same thing.  
When he finishes his food he sits on the couch for a solid hour or two, debating whether or not to order takeout. Chinese food sounds good. But he doesn’t know when he’ll get paid again now that he isn’t working as much, so he knows he should go grocery shopping.  
When he finally manages to get himself out of the house, he feels compelled to go to the ‘far away’ grocery store. It’s more expensive than the store that’s close, and it’s completely out of his way, but the produce is better there, even though he knows he’ll probably just end up buying more pizza bagels anyway.  
He gets in his car – a beat up old Toyota his mom had gifted to him on his eighteenth birthday two years ago – and drove to the ‘far away’ store.   
He’s halfway down the frozen food aisle, humming absentmindedly to himself as he adds more pizza bagels to his cart when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps and ends up dropping the box in his hand. He leans over to pick it up but there’s already a hand on the box, lifting it towards him.  
“Sorry, Patrick, didn’t mean to scare you. I said your name a couple of times but you seemed lost in thought.” When Patrick looks up to see who’s talking to him, he’s surprised to see Pete.   
He cocks his head to the side, blue eyes wide. He doesn’t know how to feel about seeing Pete here, talking to him. He looks down into his shopping cart with shame, seeing all the boxes of pizza bagels and frozen lasagnes. He wonders what Pete will think, or god, what he might say, but Pete’s too busy doing acrobatics in his own head to even notice right now.  
“It’s funny, running into you here.”  
“I live just down the street.” Pete answers. There’s nothing in his shopping cart. He’s not exactly a shopper, he’s more of an order-er. He really only came to walk around and contemplate life some more. Saturdays were usually less death-y and more wondering about what the fuck he was going to do with his life if he chose to continue living it. “I saw you there though and had to say hi.”   
“You didn’t call.” Patrick says flatly.   
“I couldn’t tell if the numbers you wrote were sevens or twos, and I was too scared to accidentally call somebody’s mom up and be like ‘hey, come to my apartment, I’m in my pyjamas but I just wrote this great song about offing myself’, so I didn’t.” Pete retorts. He didn’t exactly want to call Patrick up and say that, either. They barely knew each other, and he didn’t need Patrick to know what a mess he was. Not yet, anyway. Maybe never.   
This makes Patrick laugh, though. “They’re twos.” He pulls his Blackberry out of his pocket. “Here. Put your number in my contacts. I don’t trust you to call.” He smiles lightheartedly, handing the cellular device to Pete.  
“Gee, thanks.” Pete chuckles as he punches his number into Patrick’s phone. “God, you really like pizza bagels, don’t you?” Pete finally sneaks a peek into Patrick’s cart, his eyes widening.  
“Are you calling me fat?” Patrick’s eyes narrow, and he starts to panic.  
“No!” Pete says quickly. “I like them, too.” He lies. He’s never had a pizza bagel in his life, but he adds a box to his otherwise empty cart.   
Patrick smiles and they walk through the grocery store together. “Hey, were you humming Britney Spears?” Pete teases.  
“No.” Patrick lies, trying to protect the image of himself he’d created at the diner as the punk loving waiter in pink. He _is_ that, but he’s also a slut for pop music on the side.  
“So, you weren’t humming Toxic?” Pete asks, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.  
“What if I was?” Patrick asks quietly, a blush creeping up his neck and settling in his cheeks.  
“Ha! I knew it.” Pete smiles. He loves being right. “It’s okay, I won’t tell.”   
“I listen to other stuff,” Patrick says, his words rushed and flustered.  
“Okay.” Pete nods. “Your secret’s safe with me.”   
They agree to part ways after going down a few more aisles together. “Call me.” Pete flirts on his way out. “And for the love of god, add some grapes to your cart or something. Can’t have Patrick dying.”   
Pete disappears before Patrick can protest. He adds some grapes to his cart as a last minute decision before checking out.


End file.
